


With These Dirty Hands...

by TheSmidge



Series: But now I see how life can change [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Implied Unrequited-Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, M/M, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Sam Wilson (Mention) - Freeform, Tony Stark (Mention) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmidge/pseuds/TheSmidge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s like he’s swimming in darkness, no up nor down, just nothingness. The screams of those he has killed echo around him, their blood stains his hands, fills his lungs, drowns him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	With These Dirty Hands...

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to _['On your right...'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1489750)_ , which you don't need to have read to understand this. 
> 
> A/N - The Implied Unrequited-Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers refers to Bucky musing over what his relationship was with Steve and how he feels in regards to Steve. 
> 
> Title from the _Miyavi_ song _[Girls, be ambitious. - 7 Samurai Sessions ver.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Om7J2ZWVG7s)_

It’s like he’s swimming in darkness, no up nor down, just nothingness. The screams of those he has killed echo around him, their blood stains his hands, fills his lungs, drowns him. The ground gives way, and he falls. He lands on his hands and knees, the ground soft beneath him, eerily so. Dread clammers at his skin, making him shake with it. Something claws at him, peeling away his skin, bearing him to the darkness. He tries to scream but nothing comes out.

His arm aches, pulls at him, won’t let him rest, reminds him of who he is now, of what he’s done. His kills play on an endless loop, they haunt him from behind his eyelids. He tries to block them out but the more he struggles against them the more he sees. 

The ground shifts beneath him, but he can’t look, knows what awaits him if he does. He’s not strong enough. The ground ripples beneath him, it feels like it’s laughing at him.

He’s jostled by something, it shakes him until he slips and lands with a wet slap. He can’t see through the darkness. Panic rises in his chest, bubbling over until he can’t look anymore. He screws his eyes shut, tries to block out the dark.

_‘You did this to us.’_

His eye snap open at the sound. He looks around slowly as his eyes adjust to the dark. There is a face staring back at him, dead eyes following him, boney fingers digging into his flesh. There are hundreds of them, nothing but faces in the dark as far as he can see. 

_‘You did this to us.’_ They chant, over and over, sweetly whispering the words like a lullaby. Voices he knows but can’t place. 

_‘It wasn’t you-’_

He wakes with a start. The dream forgotten, but the feeling lingers, he tries to remember, thinks it might be important. His heart is racing, almost painfully. He blinks a few times, tries to calm down, tries to remember it was a dream, and that dreams can’t hurt him. He breaths as deeply as he can, holds it then lets it out. He does it again, the panic clings to him, he can’t shake it. In and out, in and out. He blinks, tears pricking at his eyes. His stomach rolls suddenly. In and out. He holds his breath, feels dizzy with it but it stops the panic. He can control this.

He sits in the silence of the morning, watches the birds above him. He’s sat on the edge of the bench he’d slept on the night before. His back aches but it reminds him he’s alive, and he needs that, likes the reminder that he is awake. He pulls his coats closer to him, hoping to block out a bit more of the cold. He knows he doesn't need to stay out here, knows he could find someplace to stay, knows there are people who would take him in no question. He shakes the thoughts from his mind, it’s no use. Steve’s been looking for him, he knows this, but he’s not ready, thinks he should know more about himself, know just what they were to each other. He can’t tell what is and isn’t a memory, and while he knows if he had someone to ask things would be easier, he can’t do it. Things are just too muddled, and he want’s to do this on his own, wants not to be a burden to Steve.

A woman walks past him, wrinkling her nose slightly, but she looks sympathetic. He nods to her, and she smiles, it’s strained and he thinks he’s probably done something wrong again. It’s not quite as early as he’d thought it was, he can see people milling about and it’s bright for a winters morning. 

_‘The smithsonian exhibit is probably open by now now’_ he thinks, and with nothing stopping him he decides to make his way over. 

The exhibit is always bustling, crowds of people eager to get a glimpse of Captain America, even if it’s nothing more than a photo or video, eager to learn about their great hero. He goes everyday, stares up at his face, hoping for some recognition, hoping he will remember who he was. 

No one recognises him as he walks around, he thinks it’s strange that they don’t but he’s glad, he likes the anonymity, likes that he is just as invisible here as anywhere else. Likes that he isn't the only one not to recognise himself.

He reads everything, tries to remember the moments on display, all it does is make him realise how much he’s lost, how much he still needs to gain back. He doesn’t feel anything for the people he sees, he knows he should, can see that he did. Steve is the only one he feels anything towards, the only person he remembers.

He watches the clips over and over, sees the way he smiles up at Steve. He can’t place the feelings it gives him, can’t understand the way his heart races as he stares up at him. He wonders how they did this to him, how they took him and corrupted him so much that this man he sees before him, this boy so full of love and hope could have killed so many with no feeling. 

_'It wasn't you.'_ The voice sounds familiar, but he can’t place it, not sure it matters since it’s in his head. The voice clings to him, whispers in his ear, forces him to listen, repeats the words over and over. He feels them crack at his walls, sees memories swim and disappear before him. They come back to him in fragments, flashes that flit from one thing to another. He tries to grasp them, but they fade as quickly as they appeared. 

_'It doesn't matter.'_ He thinks back, bitterly. _'It doesn't matter if it feels like it was my fault.'_ The voice quiets, leaves him to his own thoughts. 

He wanders aimlessly, going from one exhibit to another. He finds himself staring up at the uniforms, sees the shine of silver around the necks, dog tags. He scowls up at them, can’t figure out how they got them. He knows from the reels he must have had them on when he fell. He doesn’t like the implication, doesn’t like the idea that Hydra discarded them when he was taken, discarded the last link to his past life. Though he wonders if it’s as simple as that, maybe the scouts found them, the last thing left of him on the watery banks, took them as a memento of his service, of the hero they saw him for. Maybe they aren’t even his, a prop to make the whole thing look more authentic. He hates not knowing.

It plagues him as he walks, fills him with ideas he doesn’t know the truth of. Everything feels wrong. He grips at himself, holds his head in his hands as he walks, hoping the feeling will go.

“Are you alright?” A voice asks him, he turns to it, panic rising in his chest, he doesn't know. He backs away, fear rippling across his skin, he needs to run, needs to scream. He stares at the man, he’s small, stocky, even with his uniform he holds no threat. He tries to calm down, remind himself that it’s fine, everything will be OK now he’s free. “I can get someone if you’d like.” the man’s voice is soft, and Bucky shakes his head holding himself as still as he can. 

“No, I’m fine.” He croaks out, knows it sounds wrong to his ears, knows it must to the man’s as well. The man just nods, a sad smile darkening his face.

“Well, if you do need anything I’ll be over there.” He points to the corner of the room, he doesn’t say anymore as he walks back to his post, though he looks over his shoulder as he goes, concern in his features. 

Something’s changed, but Bucky can’t place what. His eyes dance across the room, everything seems so much bigger than it was a moment ago, nothing fits right. His hands shake as he pulls open the door and rushes out. 

Air fills his lungs once he's outside, it's cold and burns his lungs. Noise filters in, slowly, the sounds of runners, friends laughing. He feels at odds to it all. Wonders how he could ever have been apart of any of it. Things were simpler when he was the Winter Soldier, he had a mission, he understood his place. It's harder now, but better, he misses the structure, nothing else. His eyes wander around his surroundings, he can hear something, someone he recognises. His feet move on their own, getting closer to the voice. It’s Steve, he realises. The panic he felt before comes back, but it’s light, easier to handle. Once more he moves forward, finally spotting Steve a little ways ahead of him, he’s talking to someone he doesn’t recognise. He’s not sure if he should though, doesn’t know if he’s lost another face. 

He watches them, watches Steve gravitate towards the other guy. There is an easiness to the way they are talking, he can tell it’s strained, but it’s different, they aren’t arguing, just not agreeing. He wonders if it was like that between him and Steve, he sees flashes sometimes, of him looking happy with Steve, being happy with him, but he can’t help but feel disconnected to them, like they are a dream he can’t piece together.

He doesn't feel like he could belong to this, could ever be around Steve and not worry. He’s scared he will treat him different, and worried he won’t. Can’t decide what is worse, Steve acting like he is breakable or not remembering how they were, not remembering how he’d acted around him, and the sad look on Steve’s face when he realises things aren’t ever going to be the same.

“Stark.” He hears Steve say, it’s familiar but he can’t place it, doesn’t know how he knows it, doesn’t know if it’s from a mission or another lost friend. There is too much he doesn’t know. 

The guy passes something to Steve and Bucky can’t see quite what it is. He watches them,until Steve’s left alone. A part of him thinks he could go over now, could just let go, but he wants to find himself first, for reasons he can’t fathom he doesn’t want to meet Steve like he is now, not with so much missing still. But when Steve walks off, he follows, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Steve stops eventually at a large building, he doesn’t go in straight away, his hands running across whatever he’d been given by Stark. He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips clearly amused by what was bothering him. 

He watches Steve walk inside, unsure what to do now, he can’t go back to the exhibit, and he has no place else to go. He waits a beat, he wants to follow, wants to see where Steve is heading. It’s an odd feeling, and he tries to rationalise it, but he can’t. So he follows.

The room he walks into is clinical, he shrinks back a little because of it. There is a woman at a desk to the right of the door. She’s got a friendly smile, all teeth and cheer, her blond hair is pulled back from her face in a high ponytail. She looks up at him, smiles brighter.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice is soft and he wonders why she’s so happy, why she seems glad he’s there. She doesn’t falter when he doesn’t answer, she just nods a little and continues talking. “Sam’s in with someone right now, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you after.” He’s heard that name before, samsamsamsamsamsamsamsamsamsam, his mind keeps repeating it, tries to place it, picking through the memories he has left, tries to figure out how he knows it, it seems important, Sam, Steve's friend, code name Falcon, mission. "I can tell him you're here if you like." He shakes his head. "OK" she doesn't push him and he can't help but wonder why, can't understand her patience with him, can't fathom why she's not shouting at him, forcing him to tell him why he's there. He hears something in the distance, it sounds like Steve’s voice. He panics when he realises it’s coming closer. 

"I have to go." He says, his voice rough with disuse. "Can you tell him." He wonders why he feels like he needs this, like he needs someone to know he was here. "Tell him, James..." He stops, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. His names feels like a lie, but he knows it’s just another in a long stream of them, almost remembered shards that sound wrong to him.

She waits a moment then smiles, realising he’s not going to say anymore.

“There’s an open session every wednesday, you could come back then if you’d like.” He nods, doesn’t say anything either way just turns and leaves, his heart hammering in his chest.


End file.
